The research paper was just another assignment—“Asian Beliefs and Practices.” Nothing special. Still, I dragged myself into the library the next morning, half-asleep, clutching my pen like it might write for me. I was skimming through a thick volume when a folded sheet of paper slipped out from page sixty-seven. Curious, I opened it.

“Jimin Yoo, of SSLG family...i like u T-T... -snow”

Snow? I snorted quietly, shaking my head. Someone must’ve been bored. But something about it… stuck. I jot down my own reply.

“What’s so special about me, Snow?” -yjm

I wrote, tucking it back between the same pages.

Days passed. Each visit brought a new note—sometimes messy, sometimes rushed, sometimes thoughtful. She wrote about little things: her nervousness in class, the way she admired me from afar. I found myself grinning like an idiot while answering, scribbling back questions I never thought I’d care about. Whoever “Snow” was, she felt real.

Of course, Giselle caught me one afternoon.

G: “Bitch, what are you even doing? Writing love letters in a library book?”

“It’s not like that”

I whispered, though even I wasn’t sure anymore.

G: “You’re insane. If the librarian catches you—”

And she did. Just like that. My mom was called, a scolding lecture followed, and I was told to stop. The book was replaced. The conversation—over.

Weeks crawled. Every time I passed the shelves, my chest ached, hoping for a miracle. Nothing. “Snow” vanished.

Then today—back in the library, pretending to browse. The librarian raised a brow at me, muttering not to cause trouble again. I smiled awkwardly, but my mind wasn’t on her.

It was on the pair of eyes I suddenly met across the room. Dark, steady, familiar in a way I couldn’t explain. My world slowed, the chatter and shuffling fading until it was just me and her.

And for a fleeting second, I thought—Snow?